Dragon Rising: Imperial Ambition
by Keytchtee
Summary: Alduin has been vanquished, Miraak defeated, and the civil war ended. Now, the ambition of Martell Whitehead, the last Dragonborn, drives him to another war. A war that will take him back to his past, and decide the future of all races of Tamriel.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

I could feel the gaze of every single customer of the Northernhearth Inn piercing me as I entered through the low door, letting in an icy wind into the already drafty inn. The name made it sound like a safe haven from the cold outside, with an enormous hearth whose fire roared out against the freezing wind that howled through the streets of Bruma, the hall in bright lights.

The mundane reality would get anyone with a sense of decency to turn around and exit into the cold outside again.

Northernhearth inn was cold and drafty, with a low ceiling and dank lights, making it impossible to see where you placed your feet. The floor consisted of stamped earth, the tables of splintery planks. Beneath one of the few lamps the innkeeper looked at me with suspicious eyes.

With care, as to avoid stepping on any feet, I made my way towards the counter.

"A room for the night, please."

He glared at me. That seemed to be the only thing anyone here was capable of. That, and drowning their troubles in mead. Bruma was close to Skyrim, and it was rather natural that this fact had influenced them in some ways, this particular way being that the Bruman citizens prefered mead to ale. The only different I had noted was that mead was usually sweeter, and less prone to force your latrine related needs.

"Ten coppers." The voice was hoarse, probably from overconsumption of his own beverages.

I suspect he thought that I couldn't afford ten coppers - which my appearance highly suggested - and hoped that I would rather leave, or pawn the sword I had slung over my back. I dug into my pockets and dropped the requested amount on the counted. He selected a coin at random, bit it, frowned over the fact that he was paid as requested and couldn't force me leave or do something else, and waved his hand towards the stairs.

"Second room on the right".

I nodded in response, mumbled a thanks, slung my knapsack over my back, and went up to the room. It suffered from the same problems the main hall suffered from; Low ceiling, a single dank light. Ironically, the floor up here suffered not from the same issue that plagued the floor down there. Rather, it shared more similarities with the tables of the main hall.

The bed was a simple hay mattress, with little comfort and many lice to offer. Eyeing it carefully, I decided a night on the floor with my cape as bed was safer.

I dropped the knapsack and formed it into something that vaguely resembled a pillow, swung the long blade of my back, swept myself in my cloak, and lay down on the floor, gripping my sword tightly. It was all I had left.

The floor was incredibly uncomfortable, and it took hours before sleep even approached. I listed to the sounds; the howling of the wind outside the thin walls, the quiet voices from downstairs.

* * *

_"Focus, Martell", mother's voice called. "Focus on my eyes. It's in the eyes you see the intent of your opponent."_

_I swallowed, and stared into her hazel eyes. Kind, teaching, wishing me my best. I raised the slightly curved practice sword to point it at her, ready to attack, while I kept my shield high, ready to defend._

_"Now, show me what I have taught you."_

_Carefully, I advanced. Never near an enemy without great care, was what she had taught me. I jabbed at mother with my weapon, but withdrew before she could flick it away or lock blades with me. Never put yourself in a position where you must fight a stronger opponent without some kind of advantage of your own. She had taught me that as well._

_But she had followed me now, slowly advancing upon me. I felt that I had already lost the match. I always did._

_"Don't despair! Only death is certain!" she called. I felt a slight flicker of raised confidence, but quickly ducked under my shield as an overhead blow came at me. At the same time I swept out with my swordhand, forcing her to jump back to avoid being hit. I charged forward with my shield first. I had done this maneuver before, so she was familiar with it. As I came charging, she simply stepped to the side, to lash at my back when I passed. But I was prepared, whirled around in the middle of a step, catching her blade with my shield, trusting forward with it, to follow up with a sweep that forced her to duck, and…_

_I found myself on the ground. She had swept me over with her legs as she ducked. Never expect your opponent to fight fairly. She had taught me that too, but that particular lesson was hard to swallow. She looked at me and smiled._

_"Well done, Martell. You're improving."_

_I couldn't tell if the praise was genuine or not. A mother is never a reliable source when it comes to reviewing your flaws. I smiled in response though._

_"Thanks, ma'."_

_She reached out with her hand, I grabbed it, and she pulled me up. I gathered up the dropped shield and practice sword, took mother's contemporaries, and carried them into the house to drop them in a locker in the main room._

_"Have your mother been beating you up again?" teased father. He looked up from the spellbook on Conjuration he usually had stored in his and mother's bedroom. The long white hair fell into his face. He wasn't old, but his hair had been white for as long as I could remember. Just like mine._

_"She'd beat you too, da'."_

_He chuckled in response._

_"That's true. She has always been a fighter."_

* * *

I hadn't even noticed falling asleep. After making that observation I reprimanded myself. When do you ever notice that falling asleep? I did notice waking up, however. My back's protests against the cruel treatment I was putting it through finally forced me to give in to its demands, and slowly I rose. I tried to stretch myself out, but my knuckles scraped against the ceiling. Ah well, I though. I wouldn't get more sleep that night. Might as well leave.

I exited the inn, grumbling slightly over the wasted money. They could have been spent so much better…

Dawn was coming, slowly and carefully, as if the sun was afraid that any more radical approaches to the sky would force retaliation from the night. A gray-ish, dim light spread over the streets. The wind had died down momentarily, and while I certainly won't say it was warm, if wasn't really cold either. If anything, it was bearable.

I chose to enter the Chapel of the Eight. Ever since the Treaty Talos worship had been abolished, and after hundreds of years his icon had been removed from all Chapels, making them Chapels of the Eight, instead of the earlier Nine. It was warmer here, even though there were no beds. I approached the altar of Stendarr, fell to my knees, and prayed. Right now I was in need of the mercy that he supposedly provided.

Hunted, I lamented. Hunted for almost a year, trying to escape the enemies who carried the authority granted to them by the White-Gold Concordat.

How could this have happened? Why did it have to happen? Despair welled up like a dark wave inside of me. I couldn't help but to start sobbing. The childish notion of how unfair it all was gripped me tightly. It was strangely comforting.

After a good ten minutes i wiped the tears of my face, and straightened up. There was nothing left for me in Bruma. No, I corrected. Nothing left for me in Cyrodiil. I would hang around town for a few hours, till the stores opened so I could buy provisions, and then I would go northwards, towards Skyrim. There was a civil war going on there. Maybe I could take hire as a sellsword. Oh, how I had fallen.

The sun was now above the horizon, and people started appearing on the streets. A few shops had opened, and I hurried towards one of them, owned by a sour Nord who looked like he would much rather stay in his bed than going outdoors to flip the sign from "closed" to "open". Who wouldn't in this cold? I strolled towards him, and asked:

"Excuse me, but do you sell provisions here?"

Unlike the people on the inn, this old man actually seemed happy to see me. Not seeing me, personally, but seeing a customer this early.

"Why yes, I do. Give me a minute and I'll let you in."

It didn't take him a minute, something I was thankful for. The quicker I left, the better. Once inside, he started going over his stores.

"Where are you going?" he asked casually, making idle conversation. Without reflecting that it might not be best not to tell the truth, I replied:

"Skyrim."

He looked at me with suspicion, and strangely, worry in his eyes. It didn't seem like he thought I was lying, but I couldn't be sure.

"Skyrim, eh? You'd need plenty of rations and warm clothes if you're planning to go there."

I couldn't help but snort faintly at his tone of voice. It was clear that he sold these warm clothes as well, and wanted to make some extra money. But I didn't have the extra money.

"Only rations for me. Corn, milk, and vegetables. Some meat if you have as well."

He looked slightly disappointed, but straightened his face almost immediately, adopting a very businesslike face, with a slight glint in his eyes.

I have never been good at haggling. To be frank, he skinned me almost bare. But I left with the food I needed. I exited through the eastern gate, and headed northwards. The wide road was travelled by other wanderers, a few carts, and the occasional patrol.

The crisp air chilled my lungs with every breath, and I regretted not having bought a warmer cloak. I didn't feel cold - yet. But I was sure i would by sundown.

Despite not having slept properly during the night I felt alert and brisk. I would soon be out of Cyrodiil, and while not free of Thalmor Influence, Skyrim was slowly slipping out of their grip. I wouldn't go so far as to say that I would be safe in Skyrim, but I'd be better off at least. I hoped.

Four days later the mass of people had thinned out greatly. I was almost alone on the road, constantly glaring in all directions for patrols. I couldn't trust they would take me for anything else than a smuggler, or maybe a fleeing criminal. The latter wouldn't be entirely incorrect, depending on your perspective.

On the fifth dusk I reached the border station. Camping not far from it, I decided to try and sneak by when night fell. You'd need official passports to get through legally, something I lacked. I also lacked the funds for a bribe.

As darkness fell, I gathered my belongings, packed up, and started to move as silently as I could. My night sight wasn't on level with that of a Khajiit, but since I never bothered to light a fire it was still good enough to see where I set my feet.

I shuddered in the cold wind, and could only hope nobody heard my footsteps on the dry leaves. Sounds travel far at night. I could hear an owl hooting, and flinched as it plummeted towards the ground to catch a rat crawling through the bushes. And then I heard it:

"I swear I saw something out there!"

The shrill voice pierced the night like an arrow, sending me on the edge, declaring my defeat.

Don't despair. Only death is certain.

The blood thumped against my temples, and as stealthily I could I lowered my posture, slowly inching away from the voice.

"You're seeing shadows, Björn, there is nothing out there."

The other voice rang of exhaustion and irritation. It's owner probably just wanted to return to their hearth and enjoy a mug of beer - mead. He was clearly an intelligent man, whom his companion should do everything to emulate. I turned around, and saw the pair clearly. They were using torches. I quickly averted my eyes and kept moving. They had no chance of finding me if they used torches, they night eyes were practically dead.

"I tell you, there's someone out there, trying to sneak across the border!"

Obnoxious bastard, that one.

"If you're so convinced there's someone out there, be my guest to find out. If it turns out to be an angry bear though, suit yourself."

The obnoxious bastard huffed and proceeded to searching for the person trying to sneak over the border. By then I had advanced long enough to get a headstart, and a quick glance revealed he had missed my direction by several degrees. He'd never find me if he kept going.

The cracking sound under my foot betrayed my position. As I hurried my tempo I cursed the dry branch I had accidently stepped on. Glancing back again, I noticed he had corrected his angle, coming towards me. In an attempt to shake him, I turned right and slightly back towards the border.

I didn't step on any more branches that night. Only a few minutes later I turned back in my original direction, parallel to the annoying border guard's route. Soon enough, he gave up with a shrug and comment on his own imagination, and I could continue my journey through the night without further impunity. I returned to the road, and started my way forward. Soon I saw a sign that said "Helgen", pointing me to go further into the mountains. I didn't know what Helgen was for place, but since it was marked with a sign, I supposed it was a village or something similar. It would do.

The whizzing of an arrow and the subsequent "clink" against the ground as it bounced away startled me, stopped me dead in my tracks, and without reflecting I swung my shield of my back as I pulled my sword in self defence.

"Well, look at what we have here", an aloof, arrogant female voice stated as half a dozen men in armour closed at me. "Someone who's being trying to get over the border illegally, it would seem."

An altmer dressed in the Thalmor robes came riding out of the dark on a white horse. More soldiers followed in her track, all in heavy armour. A click was heard, and a lighted torch raised. I was almost blinded by the sudden light.

"Or maybe a spy?" the Thalmor pondered. "Either way, disarm him. General Tullius has apprehended a group of Nord prisoners to be executed, might as well throw this one in with them."

No. I would not be taken by the Thalmor. I'd rather die. And take some of them with me. Without any further activity of the mind, I charged forward with a roar. I like to think it was a roar, but in retrospect, I've found myself to realize that it was probably more of a pathetic wail.

I never stood a chance. As soon as I bashed the first one with my shield, the second whipped me over the neck with a wooden mallet. Temporarily blacking out, I fell to the ground. As soon as my sight was back, I looked up at the Thalmor on her horse, holding my sword, studying it.

"Oh, it seems I have a Blade on my hands." The pun passed miles over our heads at the time, but she seemed to enjoy it. Then she looked closer at me. "No", she decided. "Too young. Maybe one of your parents? Or perhaps both?" She grew silent for a moment, gauging my reaction. "Oh, yes, they both were, weren't they? Well, as yet another rebel against the authority of the Thalmor, I guess it's just fitting that you face your death in the same way as the Stormcloaks." She turned from me, and instructed the soldiers to strip me of my clothes and possessions, and instead force me into a pair of overworn clothes, binding my numb body hands and feet. The latter were slung together in a way that allowed me to take short, humiliating steps, but not to run. I was dragged into the night by the elves.

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A/N: Thank you for reading so this. Please note that this is just the prologue, and that the rest of the story takes place after the Main Quest and Civil War.

Also, I'm going to add some snippets of info in this A/N.

All distances and cities are much larger, sporting much bigger populations. It's more realistic that way.

There is no such thing as health potions. There are stamina and magicka potions, because those do make sense outside the game. However, it's not healthy to consume these, since they force the body and soul to perform to a higher standard than it's capable of on its own.  
Magicka usually takes days to regenerate, and completely depleting it may render you incapable of casting spells again. Potions and enchantments may remedy this, but sooner or later you suffer from withdrawal-like problems.  
Using Shouts damage the human body to some degree. There are no specific time limits in between shouts, you can essentially fling shout after shout, but more than one shout in several hours will start damaging your throat, and too much usage without recovering will rapture your lungs. The Amulet of Talos lessens the damage caused by oneself by shouts instead of lessening the time between shouts.  
These changes are done to make it more realistic, and to make sure that magic and shouts doesn't become the tantamount to god mode. These will also apply in any other ES fanfics I might make.

And finally, I ignore Dawnguard completely. As far as I see, that was not part of the Dragonborn's story, and therefore I don't include it. There won't be any references to it it any way. The Dark Brotherhood storyline takes place, but it's not the Dragonborn who is the listener. The Thieves Guild might be referred to, but he won't be joining them either. Same with the Companions.

Wow, sorry for the extremely long A/N...


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Beginning of a New Era**

It was with heavy steps I entered the great hall of the Palace of Kings. It was wrecked by the force of the shout I had just used to open the barricaded doors. The long end tables now lay broken not to far from the throne. The doors had fallen off their hinges, and were spread flat against the floor. The cold stone floor itself was covered by food having been swept of the tables beforehand, splinters, candles, and tapestries. I had reduced the great hall of Ysgramor to a pile of wreckage.

Sprawled against the floor were also several bodies, bleeding from various injuries, some dead and silent, some still alive, moaning and twisting in pain.

I raised my eyes from the destruction, and beheld the last stand of the Stormcloaks.

Roughly a dozen men in the blue sachs of Windhelm and the Stormcloaks surrounded the throne, glaring bitterly at me. And behind them all, mounting the throne of Ysgramor, sat Ulfric Stormcloak: instigator of insurrection, fervent believer of Talos, jarl of Windhelm. A man of self-proclaimed honour.

"Dragonborn", his deep baritone voice called. He rose, and his already impressive stature was further cemented by the fact that he stood on top of a platform three feet higher than the floor. A large and burly man, with undeniable charisma. Granted, I still didn't like him. "Why did you sell us out to the Empire? You, Dragonborn, who would understand us Nords better than any outsider? Are you now bending forward for the Thalmor?"

His words wasn't in the least bit convincing. Even though we hadn't been too different at our first encounter.

* * *

_"General Tullius, sir!" a voice rang from the battlements that had appeared around the bend. "Open up for General Tullius!"_

_The gates creaked as the train of wagons closed to it. We passed through the low gatehouse, and I spotted the Thalmor agent that had surprised me during the night. Without reflecting I shouted:_

_"Gold-skinned whore!"_

_There was a moment of complete silence as the entirety of the crowd around us stared in awed silence at me. Was this young Breton brave or stupid?_

_Then the stormcloaks bursted out laughing. Bellowing, cheerful laughs that broke the earlier pressing silence that had covered the wagons like an ash cloud. With a nervous grin I looked around in success. She had taken my possessions and freedom, but I had gotten an entire group of defeated Stormcloaks to roar in laughter at her. Ulfric gave me an approving glance, and I could almost see the smile under the gag._

_The Thalmor stared at me furiously, and my smile thinned out._

_"Kill the Breton first."_

_The man who was apparently the famous general Tullius sternly looked at her, and coldly replied:_

_"You have no formal authority here: You can't give me orders. You surrendered the former Blade to me - even though I doubt your words regarding his status - which means he's my prisoner. Do not presume to command me."_

_The crowd - and more surprisingly, the Stormcloaks - stared in silence. This was no good day for the Thalmor bitch._

_"He will be executed with the rest, I can assure you that. Now, I'll have to supervise the execution. Will you join me?"_

_She looked furiously at him, and turned her horse on the spot - quite the feat - and rode off with her entourage. The wagons kept rolling to the square - of Helgen, which Ralof told me - where we were marched off the wagons. An Imperial captain and a younger soldier with a crooked nose stood there. The latter held a list from which he called up names. As names were called, single men marched forward, towards the block, where a priestess of the Eight desperately tried to keep her death blessing ritual together, promptly ended as one of the Stormcloaks called:_

_"For the love of Talos, cut the bullshit and let's get this over with. We haven't got all day!"_

_These Stormcloaks were probably the most brazen people I've ever met. The to-be-executed's words triggered cheers and hoots from his fellows. They were silenced as his severed head fell of the block._

_"Lokir, from Rorikstead" the young legionary called._

_The meek man ran forward, and started to plead for his life._

_"No, please, I'm no rebel, I'm just a simple horsethief…"_

_The captain coldly interrupted him:_

_"So? We hang horse thieves."_

_I couldn't see his face, but the terrified gasp was enough to understand what his decision was. He hissed, and started running, not caring about the fact that we were walled in completely._

_"You're not going to…"_

_Half a dozen arrows silenced him, toppling him over with enough force for us to hear something snap when he hit the ground. The body twitched morbidly, as if still wanting to run despite being dead. I had no idea why it disgusted me more than the beheadings._

_"Ralof, from Riverwood", the legionary called with barely contained anger. He stared bitterly at the kindly Nord as the latter walked towards the block._

_"Hold it", he called as he spotted me, inspecting me closer. "Who are you?"_

* * *

I sent back a glare having the Stormcloaks shying, and replied with all the faux zeal I could muster:

"I am a servant of the Empire, not of some golden whore." If I had thought the reference would amuse him, I would be wrong. "And I will put down all those who oppose the imperial throne!"

He looked back at me in disgust, his frown deepening, along with the creases along the eyes and mouth. Then he spoke again.

"So if the Thalmor started yet another war, would you fight them?"

With a contemptuous snort I replied:

"Did you not listen to what I said? All who oppose the throne of the emperor shall fall to me, be they Stormcloak or Thalmor!"

How I hate to act the part of a blind pawn. It was obvious they hated me for my reply. Comparing them to the Thalmor was nothing short of insulting. Even I can admit that.

Ulfric was clearly not in the least bit pleased by my response.

"Kill the lapdog. He is no Dragonborn."

I would have loved to prove him wrong, I really would have. Having used multiple shouts throughout the battle of the streets of Windhelm - upwards and above a dozen times in only a few hours I had noted - I was in no condition to use another one after my recent Unrelenting Force.

Instead I chose to strain my mind. Reaching into the depths of Oblivion, its flames burning at my soul, I tore a storm atronach into existence. The familiar, draining sensation right in the nape of the neck when using magic came upon me.

Ulfric's guard reared back at the sight of the demon of thunder and stone. The cracking sound of its lashing lightning bolts unnerved them, having them back off at every lash.

It was at this moment that general Tullius and his entourage entered. Captain Rikke and two dozen heavily armed legionaries, with raised shields and sword spread into the throne room, trying to keep away from the thundering chaos that was currently chewing through the last Stormcloaks. The last guard fell, and Ulfric pulled out his blade to charge it.

"Oh no you don't", I muttered, and dispelled the atronach. Ulfric struck air, but regained his balance by making a surprisingly cat-like leap of the throne. I heard general Tullius clear his throat, and his hoarse voice declared:

"Ulfric Stormcloak. In the name of the Empire: Your rebellion is hereby at an end. Step down and surrender, and face fair trial, or stand you ground and face our blades."

The leader of the rebellion scoffed at his words.

"Fair trial? We all know the Thalmor would be pulling the strings. No, I will rather stand my ground with blade in my hand that surrender to weakness and die by the headman's axe. I only request that the Dragonborn is the one to do it, to show us that he isn't just a milk drinker chosen by fate."

I felt twentyseven pairs of eyes turn towards me. I hated him for doing that. Strange as it may sound, the great Dragonborn hated fighting humanoid enemies. Dragons were fairly predictable once you'd fought a few, and once you've gotten them on the ground they're practically dead if you've got a sense of tactics. Humans, elves, and the beast races have so much more different tricks up their sleeves. And I knew Ulfric was more than a match for any soldier. However, there was no way I could decline. Instead, I drew Dragonbane and raised my round shield in defence. I folded down my visor, and nodded in response, gesturing for the legionaries and their commanders to back away. I felt tempted to say something along the lines of 'this is my fight', but chose not to. It would just be embarrassing to remember later.

Ulfric raised his own blade. Straight, Nordic. I could almost feel his massive muscles flex under his furred-lined clothing. He would do all he could to destroy the man who had brought his dreams down. The cold, dark eyes suddenly brimmed with anger, frustration, and disappointment. His eyes declared his intention. Kill.

As he started a savage swing in my direction, I shot out with my shield to intercept it, turning my shield to face the sudden direction change. The blow connected against the shield, and I felt my arm shaking. Damnation, I knew I had to end it quickly if I wanted to win this. He launched another swing, and this time I parried with the sword, directing his blow to the side.

The only thing I looked at was his eyes. His frenzied, bloodshot eyes, shooting his hatred at me, no longer seeking a weakness, only charging blindly, hammering hard against my shield arm. I knew I could not truly block every strike, only deflect them. The left elbow was aching, but I ignored the pain best I could. Ulfric was much older than me, and with his savage attacks he'd soon tire himself.

"FUS, RO, DAH!"

Suffice to say I had entirely forgotten that he could shout once combat had ensued. I rarely used Unrelenting Force, but was familiar with its effects. That is, I was familiar with how others reacted to it. I was myself not acquainted with how it felt to be subject to it. I only knew I was glad he'd aimed for my whole body. Had he aimed slightly higher my head might well have been torn off blank.

My ears rang after the impact against the wall, unless it was my now heavily dented armour. Somewhere during my flight I had lost my helmet. I tried to get to my feet, and made a split-second, very stupid decision. Necessary, but stupid.

"TID, KLO, UL!"

As I uttered the last syllable I felt sharp pain in my throat, and blood forced itself up my mouth. With a retching motion I let it out on the floor. Shaking, I rose to se Ulfric charge at me. Slowly. Very slowly. Extremely slowly. Despite shivering badly, I walked towards him, positioned myself to his side, holding out my blade straight in front of his throat. He hadn't even been able to turn his hating gaze towards me when the effect of the shout ended.

As his head bounced off the floor I fell to the ground again, covering my mouth with a gloved hand, shaking badly as I suppressed the urge to throw up. By Oblivion, I thought, and retched again. Blood. I knew it had been a stupid decision.

The legionaries swarmed around me, trying to be of help, asking about my state, or simply being in the way. Swatting them aside, Tullius kneeled beside me and lay his hand on my shoulder, displaying a worried frown. I didn't address him. Speaking was not an option.

Instead, I raised my right hand - I had dropped Dragonbane on the floor - and initiated a healing spell to my throat and lungs.

One would imagine that a healing spell would give you a soothing sensation, chilling burns and smothering pain. They do not. For that you use an anesthesia spell, which rarely would help you. At least if you're the one casting it, since it will have the same effect as emptying a bottle of skooma in one quaff. Unconsciousness.

No; a healing spell speeds the healing procedure of the injury, forcing weeks - or months - of itching and pain into mere seconds and minutes. It burns, it tears, it claws at you. And you have to do it slowly if you want a proper job to be done.

I wasn't at my most dignified self after the procedure. Tears had made tracks through my dusty face, ironically I had bitten my tongue enough to make it bleed, and I shivered and sobbed as the pain subsided. So much for the heroic Dragonborn.

Shortly afterwards I was able to get on my feet. Not in peak condition, but I could walk at least.

"Well done, captain", Tullius offered, after a minute of awkward silence. "You have rendered the Empire a great service, one that will not soon be forgotten."

He frowned, and said:

"Now I guess it's time to deliver my victory speech. By the gods, I hate that part of my work."

Captain Rikke smiled faintly, and tried to encourage him that he'd do just fine. The legionaries went out one by one, and soon we followed.

General Tullius held his speech at the gates of Windhelm. Four legions had taken part in the assault, and there was no way all of them could hear him inside the city. The soldiers stood in perfectly straight ranks, arranged in companies.

I could immediately understand why Tullius hated giving speeches. He was a brilliant strategist, an excellent commander in the field, and the de facto ruler of Skyrim. But at best he was a mediocre speaker. The troops seemed to politely approve of his speech, but it was clear they were not very inspired by it. Thankfully he didn't ask me to hold a speech as well. Frankly, I doubt I would have been much better. Afterwards he excused himself, asking me to accompany him to his tent.

"What did you want of me, general?" I asked once we had entered. His only reply was looking thoughtfully at me, grabbing a jug of wine, pouring up two glasses, and offering me one of them. I took it with a grateful nod, and drank. Gods, it tasted good. I'd have to remember to ask about the brand later. Suddenly Tullius broke the silence.

"Now that the Stormcloaks are gone, I have another matter which I want to speak with you about."

I nodded at his words. I had a faint suspicion, but didn't want to utter it.

"Captain, I know of your… relationship with the Thalmor. I understand it's not a warm one, and that you probably have personal reasons for… disapproving of them. I can understand that. However", he said, and put his goblet on the table with a determined thunk, "you are part of the imperial legion. I cannot allow you to walk about killing Thalmor patrols in the future. Now that the rebellion is dealt with, the Stormcloaks can't be used as scapegoats." He glared at me disapprovingly. "Do I make myself clear?"

He did, perfectly, even though I didn't like that he'd figured out I was to blame so easily. However, the fact that he hadn't dealt with it earlier was interesting.

"You do, sir."

He nodded grimly, and then went to fall into the chair beside his bed, burying his face in his palms. When he looked up again it had lost its previous grimness, replaced by genuine fear, something I'd never thought to see in his face.

"I do not only say this because it's an irresponsible action from your side. I'm saying this because relations with the Aldmeri Dominion are frail as they are. I wouldn't be surprised if we saw a new war in less than ten years. I will not allow you to hasten its arrival."

His stern face allowed no impugnation. And yet, I couldn't help thinking, who was he to attempt to stop me? I was the Dragonborn, chosen by the gods. He was a simple man.

"I understand, sir." Those words truly costed me. No matter, I soothed my grumbling pride. Things will change, and this was just the beginning. Of what you ask? Of a new era.

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A/N: And that's the first chapter! After the prologue, that is.

Oh: The Imperial Legion is no longer cheap rip-off of the legionaries of Rome, mostly becouse it never made any real sence, considering the different time era. Instead, consider them to be you typical medieval army. Regarding their appearance, I direct you to the mod "Rebirth of an Empire" by "Becheman". You can find it in the Steam Workshop. Regarding the rank system, it's now: General, Captain, Lieutenant, Sergeant, and Private. I do this to distance myself more from the Roman legions.

Please note this isn't a quest story. It's not about the DB traveling from point A to point B and then on to point C. It will show key moments in my DB's history after ES:V, which means there will be many time skips.

Thank you very much for reading, hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please review! If there's something I can improve, don't hesitate to say so, all criticism is welcome. :-)

EDIT 1: The chapter's been re-written to correspond more with the prologue in writing style, and errors have been corrected.  
EDIT 2: I altered the number of shouts the DB character had used during the battle for Windhelm before this scene, since Aktis correctly pointed out that only two shouts in quick succession causing internal bleeding wasn't really that special.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Blessed by the Old**

As I stood on the peak of the Throat of the World, a sensation of melancholy came over me. I remember beholding it from below when shipped along with the imprisoned Stormcloaks. I had come here during my search for Dragonrend, and met Paarthurnax, head of the Greybeards, sole surviving dragon of the ancient times, and speaker of peace. An aged, gray being, filled with wisdom. Here I had entered the time wound and found out the words for Dragonrend, the shout that had made me the dragon slayer I was. Here the Dov had recognized me as their overlord after the death of Alduin.

It was here Paarthurnax had taken his farewell after mentioning his crusade to convert the remaining Dov to the Way of the Voice. It was here Odahviing pledged himself to me.

"PAAR, THUR, NAX!"

I couldn't help but smile faintly at how this probably was the first shout that I wouldn't have to quest through half a dozen ancient Nordic tombs and hundreds of draugrs to know and use. I would really be able to call any dragon by their name, and one could presume they would come. A call from the Dovahkiin was not something another Dov would ignore. The mortal born a Dov, the one who had vanquished their ancient lord.

As I waited I started climbing down from the tin peak rising above the rest of the top of the Throat of the World. There was a certain feeling standing on what effectively was the top of the world. Even with the wind and snow doing all it could to tear you down.

Climbing through a crack with faint glimmers of ebony, I dropped down to the small area with the word wall.

I hadn't brought anyone else with me, which was maybe not the best decision, but I knew the Greybeards wouldn't have allowed anyone but me to the top to visit Paarthurnax. They had been suspicious half a day ago when I passed into High Hrothgar to speak with Paarthurnax.

I knew I could have chosen another place for this confrontation. But for some reason I felt it would be wrong to do so. Paarthurnax had been a mentor, a friend, and deserved better than to be killed in an ambush. I was surprised at the insight about myself, and not entirely pleased. Sentiments should not be heeded, but by now it was too late to change my mind.

It took several hours before I heard the flapping of wings. I turned my gaze upwards, and saw the great reptile soar towards me, slowing down, and touching down in an almost gentle way. As gentle a dragon can land, that is. A dragon often makes their own wind in their flight, as if there wasn't enough on the barren peak of the Throat of the World. Suddenly it what was most reminiscent of snow walls rose from the ground, just to fall back with a wet sound. Bowing his neck down to my level he spoke.

"Drem Yol Lok, Dovahkiin. Greetings. It is good to see you have return to my Strunmah, Mountain. It has been a long time since we last spoke. What is it you wish to speak of?"

I drew a shaky breath, and let it out. I didn't want to do this. Swallowing my tears down, I shut my visor down, pulling Dragonbane from its scabbard. My old mentor's gaze was impossible to read, but his stance radiated of sorrow and disappointment. I have no idea how I was able to see that from his stance, considering the body language of mortals and dragons are not similar in any way. I didn't think about it too much at the time though.

"So, Dovahkiin, you've returned to Monahven to face me. Not as Fahdon, friend, but as Qahnaarin, vanquisher?"

Raising my shield and sword, I ignored the sorrow in his words. If I was to succeed, I needed the support of the Blades. And the only way to get it would be through killing Paarthurnax.

He spoke again, with that rumbling voice, this time tinted with a mournful tone:

"So, you've been consumed by you Pahlok, just as my brother once was. Unslaad Krosis. I am sad you think this is your Dez… Fate."

And with that, the ancient dragon again reached for the sky, spreading his aged wings. He would not leave the ground.

"JOOR, ZAH, FRUL!"

Paarthurnax screamed of rage and pain as the blue flames of Dragonrend burned his hide for the first time in his existence. Forced out of the sky by my power, he fell to the ground like an enormous rock, the ground trembling, almost robbing me of my footing. His head turned to me in rage, for the first time displaying his true nature.

"YOL, TOOR, SHUL!"

Raising my shield to hold back the flames I offered a prayer for protection to Stendarr. And thanking him for my Breton nature while I was at it. I was far from immune from the elemental attacks of magic, but others seemed to suffer more from them than me. Maybe it was my Dov heritage.

The stream of fire suddenly ended, and I charged forward shield first. Not the best idea. Dragons are limited on the ground, yes, but underestimating their quickness in neck and paws can be fatal.

I was lucky to fall into the deep snow when he lashed out - and connected. Groaning in pain, I rose to face him.

"I hold no desire for your blood, Dovahkiin. You are a Fahdon, friend. Stop this Mey, folly, and you will be forgiven."

I could not. It may be folly, but I do not bend to others. Ignoring his offer of peace, I started running left. He slowly turned to face me, but then I started dashing to the right instead, around the word wall. I knew I had him now, presuming Dragonrend didn't wear off, which it wouldn, if experience had anything to say about it.

Dragons are only truly strong in the air. Once they're grounded they're slow to turn, and if you're capable of recognizing their attack pattern, you can easily defeat one. Especially if you bring company. I was alone now, but I had used this tactic before, and it had worked so far.

By the time I was around the word wall, Paarthurnax hadn't even been able to turn halfway around. Making the most of the situation, I started hacking away at his wing, ripping up tears in the wing membrane with Dragonbane, sending a surge of faint lightning through him with every strike. I made a silent note to offer a prayer for whoever forged the sword. Later. Paarthurnax reeled at every strike. Victory was in my reach.

I wondered where said victory disappeared when I found my breath knocked out of me yet again, teary eyed and panting. The back of the armour was dented inwards, sending sharp twinges of pain up throughout my back. Slowly orienting myself, I saw the giant head of Paarthurnax rising over me, mouth slightly widened, showing off the rows of long teeth, stained by dirt and blood. And soon my blood would join it.

The maw of my ancient master came crashing towards me, and I replied as I had against Ulfric. There was a reason I prefered that specific shout.

"TIID, KLO, UL!"

I threw myself aside to avoid the crashing jaws, which smashed against the ground unnaturally slow. He was aware of what happened, but didn't have the time to draw back. The pupil of his enormous eye stared accusingly at me as I thrust deeply with Dragonbane; through the eye, into the brain, and out through the other eye.

The entire body twitched, shrugged, and tore in death cramps. I kept my grip around my sword, and felt the wind around me as I was swung back and forth wildly as his body fought its death.

I was knocked to the ground, forced to release my grip of Dragonbane. Something in my left arm cracked as it was forced backwards, and I screamed as I felt the breaking pain.

Then, silence. As far as silence goes when the wind is howling around you. But there were no more sounds from Paarthurnax. I groaned as my arm made itself felt. Looking at it, it was clearly broken. For some reason I couldn't help but smile. Snort. Snicker. Completely collapsing from laughter. Tears ran. They flooded. I suddenly bawled my eyes out.

"Damnit Stendarr, I asked you to protect me". The words slipped out of my mouth without me even noticing them until recalling them later. I now understand that there was a deeper reason for me saying those words than being upset about my broken arm. Somehow I had asked him to protect me against the guilt that flooded over me, threatening to render me insane. I must've fainted a few minutes later.

* * *

_The dead dragon started to shine, glowing in a golden light, as if radiating great heat. I'd never seen a dragon explode, but fearing I would today, and get caught in the blast radius, I turned on my heels, running the opposite direction. Surprised cries and stumbling sounds declared I wasn't the only one. I could almost feel my feet touching my arse as I ran. And got knocked over by an enormous, powerful, burning force. There was no pain. From whatever force it was, that is. The burning sensation was almost fulfilling. But there was pain. From my tongue, which I had bitten as I fell._

_Rising up, I no longer felt the exhaustion from fighting the dragon. In fact, I felt better than I had in years. Maybe even my entire life. Taking a deep, refreshing breath, I beheld the world, as if in a new light. Everything seemed clearer, closer. More beautiful, given a spark I had never seen before. I could hear a panicked rat running through the grass, the flutter of a bird landing on the corps of the dragon and try to peck at it. I could smell the blood of men and dragon, feel the air through every strand of my hair. How I had not known this splendor before escaped my understanding. I felt… complete. But slightly hungry. I presume killing dragons does that. I didn't know about those things then._

_"Hey, are you alright?" the harsh voice of Ireleth, jarl Balgruuf's housecarl asked. Turning with a wide grin, I replied:_

_"Never better."_

_I felt myself standing at the front of my feet, bouncing slightly, filled over the brim with energy. Smiling like a bloody fool. Looking back I back I can't help but reprimand myself. I must've looked like a newly satisfied Skooma addict. With my heightened senses, I noticed one of the guards looking at me in disbelief and… reverence?_

_"You… I can't believe… you… can't be…" He swallowed, and continued: "You're… Dragonborn, aren't you?"_

* * *

I could hear a shrieking sound tearing through the air, a glow piercing my closed eyelids, forcing me to open them up. The soul of Paarthurnax rose to the skies, leaving its dead shell behind, twisting, and homing in towards me like a spell of destruction, cast by a skilled caster. It entered into my body, driving exhaustion and madness away, clearing my mind, and giving me a rumbling sensation inside.

Wincing at the trailing bolts of pain I carefully removed the armour on my left arm. It was broken just above the elbow. Carefully initiating a basic, slow working healing spell, I bent the arm back in the correct angle. It might sound strange, but this was the first time I had been wounded like this. Not even against Alduin or Miraak had I sustained a broken arm. The agony of repairing it this slowly was extreme, and I had to stop as tears ran down my face. Breathing heavily, I told myself that doing it faster could potentially damage the arm permanently.

I don't know how long I sat there, but by the time I was done, darkness was falling. Igniting a magic light above my head, I went back to where I had dropped by backpack. Returning to the word wall, which radiated a strange heat, I set up my tent inside its arch. Spending some time to build up a small wall of snow, and fastening the tent into it, I knew I would make the night.

Paarthurnax was dead. I could see his carcass when I looked out, and I could feel his rumbling soul inside of me. And I cried.

Tears ran down my face because of what I'd been forced to sacrifice. Had it really been worth it? Would the loyalty of the Blades be truly worth it?

I told myself it was, shaking in tears, lying in a fetal position in the tent.

I cried myself to sleep as I tried to imagine a brighter future.

It had taken me four days to descend from the top of the mountain down to Ivarstead, and three weeks from there to Sky Haven Temple. As I neared High Hrothgar, the Greybeards shut the doors and refused to open. I had been forced to climb around. I considered summoning Odahviing, but doubted he'd want to come only to carry me for a bit. Also, while it was common knowledge that I had ridden a dragon to Skuldafn, even Delphine and Esbern thought I had done so out of necessity, not actually befriending another dragon. Though befriending was maybe a strong word at the point.

Suffice to say, I wasn't what you'd call in a good mood once I arrived. I had killed Paarthurnax because I had had to, even though he was a friend and a mentor. I could not allow sentiments to hinder me, even if it was hard.

It had been over a year since I first met the Blades, and they had been recruiting efficiently in the time I ended the civil war. I didn't wear my usual armour, and had instead chosen a less notable outfit, quite similar to the one I had arrived in Skyrim with. Worn clothes and a cloak, with a simple leather helmet with an iron nose protection. A round banded shield slung over the back, and Dragonbane at the hip.

I asked one of the new recruits where I could find Delphine and Esbern, and she directed me towards the porch overlooking the road to Markarth.

It was early in the morning, so they were the only people on the porch. Most others were either sleeping or eating breakfast.

They gazed out over the mountains of the reach, standing close to each other. For what was probably the hundredth time I wondered if there was something between them, but dismissed the notion.

I hadn't bothered trying to be quiet when approaching them. As I've said, I wasn't exactly in a favourable mood that morning, and stomping loudly is often one of the easiest ways to deal with anger. Not very effective, but I often do so nonetheless. Call it a bad habit.

They turned around, and I removed the helmet, letting my hair flow free in the faint wind.

"Dragonborn…" Esbern begann. Before he could continue Delphine interrupted him.

"What are you doing here? As long as Paarthurnax lives…"

I now interrupted her in turn.

"He's dead. I've completed your little quest." I couldn't help letting my disgust slip into my voice.

They fell silent, staring at me in shock. It took them several minutes before they found their voices. Delphine smiled and patted my shoulder.

"Good work, we knew you would do the right thing, eventually."

I turned my sneer into a grimace faintly resembling a smile.

"I understand if this was hard on you, my lad", Esbern interjected. "If you need to talk about this - or anything else - know that we are here, at your service."

I felt a pang of gratefulness at his words, mixed with cynicism. Esbern seemed to have a deeper understanding of how people worked than Delphine did. It had been hard on me, and he knew it was their fault. He'd do what he could to regain my favour.

"Yes, there is something. It's not about Paarthurnax though, not even about the dragons. It's about the Thalmor."

They looked at me with strange faces. Confusion, suspicion, and scepticism could be seen in their faces. As well as curiosity. About what the Thalmor might have done, about what I intended to do.

"What are you planning, Dragonborn?" wondered Delphine.

I met her gaze steadily. She was not to question me. But she would bend, eventually. All would. It was all about patience. And being able to make the wheels turn.

"If you're wondering if I'm planning to start a war, you're wrong. Or at least not entirely correct. You remember when I entered the Thalmor embassy to find out about the dragon threat a year ago?"

She nodded, as did Esbern. She had probably updated him on all details about me during this year. Assuming anything less would be folly.

"Well, when searching the embassy I found a dossier, which I recently brought to general Tullius. It was the dossier on you, Esbern."

Delphine interrupted me. She was good at doing that.

"What has that got to do with anything? Esbern is here, Alduin is defeated."

I nodded, ignoring her impertinence.

"I did. But the dossier also mention that it was crucial to keep the civil war running for as long as possible, since it weakened both the Empire as well as Skyrim. It didn't mention any future wars directly, but it referred to the last conflict between the Aldmeri Dominion and the Empire as the 'first war against the Empire'. They're planning another one."

It was not really surprise to either of them, but they still seemed shaken by the news.

"Why didn't you tell us of this earlier?" asked Delphine in an accusing tone.

I looked out over the Reach, as if searching for an answer.

"It wasn't the time yet. At the time we were stuck in the dragon crisis, and after trying - and failing - to relax with studies at Winterhold the civil war consumed my time. I understood you would not speak to me about this unless I killed Paarthurnax, so I did what was necessary."

She seemed to accept my explanation for now. She presumably noted my bitter tone, but I had chosen them over my dragon mentor. No. My Dov mentor.

"If - or when - it comes to war, we have to be ready. Whether or not you will aid directly in the war or not, you would be familiar with how the Thalmor work, having eluded them for so long, and having fought against them."

They looked at each other, and then turned back to me.

"Son", Esbern said. "If it comes to war, we will be there with you to fight them. We blades are sworn to the service of the Dragonborn, and should you go to war against the ones who almost destroyed us, we will gladly aid you."

A strange warmth rose in my chest, and an immense sensation of satisfaction spread throughout me. The Blades were with me.

To be frank, it was not necessarily their combat prowess or their talent as agents that I needed, though it would certainly be very welcome. But if the former bodyguards of the Dragonborn emperors fought alongside and under me, I would have an even stronger claim. Once the war started I'd be able to grab a strong position without seeming like a local warlord who grabbed power for himself, unlike Titus Mede I. I would appear blessed by the old time, by blood and by guardians.

I smiled at them.

"I am very glad to hear this. I do not want war, but I fear it's inevitable."

Not entirely a lie. I didn't want the war itself, but to destroy the influence of the Thalmor it would be necessary.

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A/N: And that's chapter two! It's also the longest chapter so far! Unless it's beginning to dawn on you, Martell Whitehead has his own agenda, besides saving the world from every calamity an RPG can squeeze into a time period of mostly a few months. ;-)

Now, a few notes for the future: I won't promise when the next chapter will be out. However: I've planned two of the subsequent chapters, and have specific ideas for another pair.

Please note that the Prologue and Chapter one has been edited.

Aand... I guess that's it for now. I know you hear this a lot, but please rate and review! I enjoy writing this, but knowing you enjoy reading it is what truly makes it worth my while. :-)


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Hail the emperor**

The arbiter cringed under the eyes of the elite of Skyrim, Cyrodiil, and Hammerfell, gathered in the council chamber of the Blue Palace because of the dire situation that followed the emperor's death. It was obvious the arbiter hated being the one to bring the ill news. News that nobody wanted, news that people had fought for nearly thirtyfive years to make undone, to never happen.

With the emperor's death, they had failed, and it was this poor man's duty to inform us of this.

I looked around in the chamber, gauging the reaction of those gathered around the marble table. Nobody seemed truly surprised, but faces of shock and horror showed that a majority had denied their suspicions even to themselves.

General Tullius, my old commander, buried his face in his hands in despair. He hadn't shaved for days, and a thin stubble covered his chin. His graying hair was approaching white.

High Queen Elisif appeared as if Ulfric had killed Torygg yet again. Her mouth slightly opened in defeated shock, her eyes wide open, creasing her forehead. To be frank she appeared slightly comical, but I stiffled my laughter.

Jarl Balgruuf looked as if having bitten a more than usually sour lemon. Not surprised at all, the only evident feeling being bitterness and resentment.

Jarl Maven Black-Briar displayed her normal emotionless face. She had obviously known the news before they were delivered to us, and was still calculating what her best approach would be. I was already sure of the path she would take. She was an old hag, but she was an intelligent old hag, who knew the shifts of the wind.

Lord Tukkaru, emissary of Hammerfell shared Maven's lack of surprise, but looked more as if his suspicions had been affirmed. With crossed arms and slowly nodding head there was no doubt what he thought.

Marcus Cicarus, current head of the Elder Council of the Empire almost rivaled Tullius in his reaction. His wrinkled face seemed to fall apart at the words of the pitiable arbiter.

"My lords, ladies. After following our leads to the Thalmor Embassy north of Solitude, we've acquired irrefutable evidence that the murder of emperor Titus Mede II was ordered by high ranking officials in the Aldmeri Dominion, among other ambassador Elenwen, lord-general Quramo, and ambassador Valermo. When we arrived the embassy was emptied, and it looked as if they had disappeared in great haste, only taking bare essentials with them. This letter" - he said, and raised a piece of nearly-ruined paper with his right hand - "was found in the fireplace of the emissary's bedroom, almost destroyed. One can still make out the lines '... is becoming an increasing nuisance...', '... the emperor supports him...', 'hired the few remains of the Dark Br...', '...cut of the head of...', and 'before ne... war'."

He fidgeted nervously with his fingers. I couldn't blame him. After all, he was essentially declaring the Aldmeri Dominion wanted another war. Something true enough, though there were other forces at work.

"Please", interjected Maven Black-Briar from my left. "That is hardly evidence. It is obviously a forgery. No, I am more inclined to suspect someone from the Empire vying for the throne, trying to start a war with the 'Dominion in the process."

I didn't look at her, but I was sure she of who she thought of. It wasn't to far a stretch of thought. But I would not interrupt this charade just yet. Especially with Maven's comment I would have to be careful not to compromise myself."

"In fact, my lady jarl", the arbiter responded, "we captured a prisoner. A messenger from lord-general Quramo to Elenwen. After some... ah, persuasion, he revealed certain interesting details he had been privy to. It appears he was a trusted comrade of Quramo. A trust that was clearly misplaced. It was he who told us of the three who were responsible for the decision.

The messenger confirmed the content of the burned letters, and also revealed that it was mainly ambassador Velermo who worked with one of the members of the Elder Council - Amaund Motierre - to contact the brotherhood and arrange the death of Titus Mede II in an attempt to cause confusion in the Empire before another war was started."

The gasps, not only from the higher ranking members, but from their adjuncts and housecarls as well, were audible. Marcus Cicarus followed Tullius' example and covered his face with his palms. I leaned in on him, and asked:

"Who was this Amaund Motierre? I assume you know him, as he's a former council member?"

He turned up his face, and glared at me.

"What do you mean 'former?"

I met his glare with a composed face.

"Firstly, if he was truly involved in this, he'd be relieved of his service and executed. And for the second, I believe jarl Balgruuf can answer to that." I nodded towards the elderly jarl, and it was with a heavy tone of voice he continued where I had left off.

" A month ago a drunk, enraged imperial soldier was found raving in one of the taverns of Whiterun. When apprehended, he revealed there was a dead body in one of the rooms. He was interrogated, and revealed the corps' name to be Amaund Motierre, his ward and friend. At the time we thought it best not to reveal this. If this Motierre was in the Thalmor's pockets, who's to say more members of the Elder Council wasn't? No offence of course."

"This... man who was arrested", lord Tukkaru asked, "is he still incarcerated?"

Balgruuf nodded after seeking my approval through a quick eyeing. He'd come to trust me, the old man. As the arguably most influential jarl in Skyrim on account of station he was a powerful ally.

"Yes. We've been forcing him to eat and keep it down. He's not well though. Had we left him alone he would kill himself - along with anyone within reach."

Tukkaru nodded thoughtfully.

"Would it not be good to have this man interrogated?"

I interjected:

"He's in the Dragonsreach dungeons. It would take weeks before he's here. And I can't recall lord Cicarus answering my question?" I gave him a reminding look. He seemed to snap out of it, nodded, and replied.

"Indeed I knew him. He wasn't a friend of mine, and he was decidedly pro-Thalmor, but I had never thought him to go this far. He must've been given great reason to contact the Dark Brotherhood."

I hid a smirk. Marcus Cicarus already believed the Thalmor to be guilty. So did Tukkaru, and he would definitely speak for war - his country had been beset by the Dominion for decades, and he'd be glad if the Empire finally joined in, along with any other provinces, as long as it was against the Dominion. Balgruuf was rocking, and would soon collapse as well. Once all this was revealed to the greater public it would cause an uproar, the Empire would be forced to respond, and once there, Tullius would do his duty. The only ones who weren't tipping yet were Maven - who still calculated her possibilities - and jarl Elisif. She'd be loath to admit that the Stormcloaks had had the right idea regarding the Aldmeri Dominion.

"I am still not convinced", Maven declared. "Isn't this all a bit too convenient to you? Doesn't it strike you as odd that we have several people here among us that want a war with the Dominion, and that they may well have arranged all this? I'd say we need more proof if we're to be sure it's the Aldmeri Dominion that is behind all this."

Frustrated Tukkaru arose, slamming his fist in the stone table we were sitting around.

"By the Divines, how much more proof do you require, jarl Maven? We've got a letter telling us the Thalmor did it, as well as a trusted comrade of one of the highest ranking officers of the Dominion's army confirming its content and signatories. What more do you need?"

The jarl of Riften huffed.

"These are things that can be easily staged. That letter? I could make one of those in less than half an hour. The messenger? If you torture someone enough they will tell you anything you want them to tell you. I've yet to be convinced."

I leaned forth to take a sip from my cup. I choked, and started coughing loudly. Several parties in the room flinched at the sudden sound. My coughing subsided, and I wiped my mouth with an apologizing smile.

"Sorry about that."

Moments later, someone knocked on the door, having caught the signal. One of the guards allowed entrance, and in stepped a Breton in her middle fifties, fully clad in heavy armour. Delphine.

"I'm sorry for the interruption, lords, ladies." She turned to me. "Excuse me Dragonborn, but there is something that you might need to know."

I glanced apologetic at the others in the room.

"I am very sorry, I won't be long. I'm sure it's related somehow."

I arose with the blessing of Balgruuf, Tukkaru, Elisif, Marcus, and Tullius. Maven nodded sourly.

I exited the chamber, following Delphin into the hall outside. There awaited a dozen Blades in full armour, restraining an Altmer. She looked at me as I entered the hall, and I didn't do anything to hide my grin.

"Well well, it seems I've gotten a little elf on my hands. Elenwen."

She glared at me furiously, unable to speak because of the gag around her mouth. Her Thalmor robes were torn, her face bruised, but she was a prideful as even. The golden whore. I'm sure Razelan would have found that one amusing.

"Now, don't be like that, Ellie." I nodded to Delphine. "Bring her in at my call." I turned, and went back into the chamber with the jarls and dignitaries and apologized for the interruption. "It has come to my knowledge that we have some new, more... ah, tangible proof. Bring her in."

Audible gasps and shocked faces were displayed in wide quantity as the former ambassador to Skyrim was brought in, bound and gagged. After getting over his surprise Tukkaru licked his lips in anticipation. He was the only one though.

"Dragonborn!" jarl Elisif protested. "This is scandalous. Binding and gagging a representative of an allied nation. Do you realize the diplomatic crisis this is going to..."

I interrupted her. I had not counted on any protests coming from her. I did not like it one bit. I had better calm her down before she started raving too much.

"I am horribly sorry, your majesty." I hated uttering those words. "However, I was not aware of this turn of events until now. As you saw, I just got words that my Blades had captured her..."

It was my turn to be interrupted. By Maven, of course. I would have to beat her or win her over.

"Excuse me for interrupting, but are the Blades not an illegal organisation? Were they not branded traitors in accordance with the White-Gold Concordat?"

I nodded at her words, confirming them.

"You are quite correct, jarl Maven. However, the Blades were the ones who made it possible for me to defeat Alduin." I was giving them a lot of credit now, but it was necessary. "I have reason enough to trust them. I do not believe them to be the traitors the Thalmor say they are.

Either way, grand master Delphine and her company was assaulted on the road by a group of Thalmor - led by Elenwen. They managed to capture her, and knowing of the justice executed by the noble high queen Elisif the Fair" - flattering is always a good tool i politics if you deal with fools - "they took her to you." How I despise bowing down to someone like that. I could almost feel the bile at the back of my throat. "And, consider our current dilemma, maybe the words of one of the suspected culprits may be of help."

I didn't fool myself into thinking she'd actually admit to her crime by herself. Not that she was actually guilty, as far as she knew.

Elisif the fair - more like 'the fool' - nodded with a smirk of approval. Stendarr, how did she become high queen?

"Very well, let us hear what she has to say."

Oh how the false kings and queens wish to appear lordly and noble, like the Septims of old. What they do not realize is that they don't have what the Septims had. What I have.

I nodded, one of the Blades removed the gag, and...

"How dare you treat me this way?" By Stendarr, she could scream. Her usual semi-civilized tone was replaced by an indignant, insulted wail. With a scrunched-up face matching her tone of voice, she turned to Maven.

"Black-Briar, why haven't you done anything about this? Have our services not been enough?" Oh, this was just delicious. I had made sure the Blades had beaten and taunted her on the way, implying that Maven would be the only person able to save her. And as any individual told she was superior from the youngest age, she lunged out like a spoilt child. "Have this traitor" - she twitched her entire body in my director - "executed immediately!"

My lips were hurting from how hard I bit them. I could not allow myself to laugh maniacally. I could do that later. I cast a glance of faux shock at Maven - like most of the people occupying the room, except theirs weren't faked. Her face was stone cold. Actually helping Elenwen would only compromise her. Since Elenwen had clearly expressed her will to have me killed - me, the saviour of Skyrim - she was obviously a volatile individual to have any contact with.

"I assure you, dear colleagues", she spoke with her soft voice, "I do not know of what she speaks."

In the meantime, Elenwen kept up her screaming and raving in the background. Having had enough, I stepped towards her, gripped her robes by the collar, and applied my palm to her cheek, casting her head to the side. Gods, it felt good.

"Shut it with your ranting!" I roared into her face, shocking the others in the room even further. Someone was bound to collapse from a heart attack if I kept it up. I had to keep back a snort at the prospect. "Answer the question: Did you, or did you not order the murder of emperor Titus Mede II? Answer me, GOLden HAHrlot!"

Stendarr, mixing the dragon tongue with the language of mortals - and blending them into each other - is a practice in futility. It went reasonably well, but I'm sure the Blades caught up on it.

_Obey. Do my will. BEND FOR ME._

Elenwen was visibly dazed. And then she started laughing maniacally. I let go of her, taking a step back, shock evident on my face.

"You want me to admit?" she shouted. "Very well; YES! We did order it! He had to die to sow confusion among you pathetic worms' ranks while we trample you to the ground!"

I beheld her in disgust, joined by the rest of the room. It was clear she had snapped, revealing what she'd never reveal if she was in control of her own mind. She wasn't, however. I was.

"You will all die! And the Altmer will rule supreme over the lesser races! We..." - she was silenced by Delphine, who promptly whipped her over the neck with her armoured fist.

"By Talos, she was getting annoying."

I turned to the others, with a regretful face. It was clear they were now on my page. Maven Black-Briar was not happy about it, but she'd have to at least pretend for now.

"It would seem we were right regarding the Thalmor's involvement with the Dark Brotherhood and their assassination of the late emperor. This is a hostile move against an allied nation. Their murder of emperor Titus Mede II can not be allowed to go unpunished. And this assault upon the Empire can not be allowed to stand without repercussions."

They nodded, one by one. There was but one course now. The Thalmor had commited a greater crime than any against the Empire, and they would face justice. Justice for my killed parents, justice for all the Blades that had fallen. Justice for believing themselves superior.

Marcus Cicarus rose. He looked as if he had had an epiphany. After a moment of hesitation, he slammed his palm into the table.

"Without an emperor the Empire will be divided", he spoke. "We must show our unity, or else the provinces will fall apart.

The line of Titus Mede II may have been noble" - I held back a snort - "but they were not blessed as the Septims of old. The Septims were blessed by the Divines through their blood. The blood of the Dragons." Oh, this was going better than expected. This man was taking an immense risk by speaking so openly about this. I'd have to remember to reward him later. He gestured towards me.

"Here we have the Septims reincarnated. Is it not possible that this Dragonborn is the legacy of Tiber Septim himself?

The Empire can only be reunited quickly enough under someone who fits the ideals of the emperors of the Septim line.

I therefore suggest we crown Martell 'Whitehead' here, Dragonborn, to the new emperor of the Cyrodilic empire. With one of the Dragonblood leading us, nothing will prevent justice."

He was exaggerating, but I appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

There was an awkward silence after his speech, until I spoke.

"I am... flattered that you suggest it. It is not what I wish for, but if it is what the people of the empire would have of me, I will do my duty."

The silence was still palpable, but not as awkward. The face I had displayed for years had payed of. When I said such a thing, they truly believed I meant it. That I was just a servant of the people.

"Very well," jarl Balgruuf stated. "If it's needed for the safety of Skyrim and the Empire, I will support this."

High queen Elisif didn't even pay heed to how Balgruuf spoke out of turn. "I agree", she said. "You've proven a loyal servant of Skyrim and the empire so far."

Tukkaru nodded as well, though I suspected he wasn't going to serve Hammerfell on a silver platter to another empire that would abandon it at first notice. He'd want security. I'd give it to him. He spoke as well:

"As you all say, it's for the greater good."

After hesitating, Maven added:

"I will vote in your favour as well." It would seem she'd come to understand the way the table was set. I nodded appreciatively towards her.

The only one who hadn't spoken was general Tullius. He eyed me with suspicion. I knew that he knew more than he'd let on. But in the end, he fell with the others.

"Very well. You proved yourself a capable commander during the Civil War, and I hold no doubt you're a good enough politician."

I smirked at the subtle jab. He knew of my goals. But he also knew it was too late to back down, unless he wanted to leave the legion. And he was too loyal to do that.

"Very well", I replied. "If this is indeed the will of the people of the Empire, I will acknowledge it. We can't afford to wait though. War is closing, and we must prepare for that, first and foremostly."

Noting our lack of time would hopefully bypass at least some of the ceremony and bureaucracy.

Marcus Cicarius nodded.

"We are in agreement then."

The sharp sound of sword being drawn resounded against the walls, and everyone seemed to shrink for a bit before they knew what had happened. Delphine and the Blades stood there, with their swords raised in a salute.

"Hail Martell Septim, emperor of Tamriel!" she cried.

"Hail Martell Septim, emperor of Tamriel!" the Blades responded.

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A/N: You thought I was dead, did you not? Oh no, and to top it off, shit's begun in earnest now.

Now, notes: I do enjoy writing Martell Whitehead. There's something very refreshing about writing a character whose only concern is putting himself in a position of power, and come up with why he/she wants that. And yes, he used the Bend Will shout to force Elenwen to confess to arranging the murder of the former emperor.

No, he's not actually a Septim. The only thing he really has in common with the Septims is being Dragonborn. He merely uses the name to strengthen his own claim to the throne.

Also, unless it's obvious, there are major time skips between each chapter. Please be careful to read the first parts of the text thouroughly, since you might be left very confused otherwise.

I'm also going to drop the number of chapters. Orginally I intended 15-20 chapters, but I'm aiming at 10+ for now(Not including prologue and epilogue).

So, yeah. Thank you very much for reading this. Please drop a review, it's a huge motivator. If there's anything that you wonder, just ask. I'm happy for all reviews, especially those that tell me how to improve.


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